


How the other half lives

by aralias



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Bodyswap, F/M, Gen, M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-08 00:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5476238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wacky bodyswap comedy - two megalomaniacs trade lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How the other half lives

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Galoshins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galoshins/gifts).



> This one is obviously the most inexcusable entry given the word 'non' in the title of this collection.

The first day Blake was Servalan went well. The second went even better. The third … didn’t.

The reason for this was that Blake was interrupted in the middle of his morning vid-briefing by a smiling image of his own face – or rather, an image of what had, until recently, been his own face. The super computer that had, until recently, been his possession must have hacked into the live feed – and, for once, Blake was not pleased at this display of its power and capability.

“Supreme Commander Servalan,” his ex-face said in a fruity tone that Blake felt really didn’t suit him, “it’s been far too long, but you’re looking fabulous as always.”

“What do you want?” Blake said flatly, wishing he could hang up. “I’m busy.”

With one of his perfectly manicured hands, he sent a note to the Space Commanders he’d been briefing telling them there were technical difficulties, but that they should go ahead with the plans to implement democracy on Zephron, introduce mandatory humanities training for all children until fifteen, and hunt down ex-Space Commander Travis and kill him _properly_ this time, even if they didn’t hear from him. _Especially_ if they didn’t hear from him again.

“You’ve even managed to do the eye make-up,” Blake’s face continued as though it hadn’t heard him. “I must say, I am impressed. Frankly I wouldn’t have thought you capable of such delicate work, having seen your attempts at rebellion, and of course – having seen your wardrobe.”

“I’ve always been strong on detail,” Blake said, ignoring the insult. “I didn’t want to arouse suspicion, and you put almost as much time into your appearance as you do into universal repression. I knew I could get away with almost anything as long as I looked the part. Whereas I see you didn’t feel the same compunction about my appearance.”

“No,” Servalan said. “But then your appearance made me unhappy.”

Blake rolled his eyes. What Servalan thought of his fashion sense was relatively low on the list of things he felt were unjust, but it still rankled a bit.

“The beard makes me look evil,” he observed.

“Precisely,” Servalan said gaily. “Much more fitting with your role as the dashing scourge of Order and Unity in the galaxy. I’ve kitted you out in black for much the same reason. Now, Blake – you must be wondering why I’ve called.”

“No,” Blake said. “I assume you’ve discovered that the rest of the crew won’t let you bomb any rebel strongholds, you can’t run off with Orac because the escape pods require a code you should know but don’t, and Orac won’t let you send any classified information back to the Federation – that is because I sent him a coded message almost immediately after I realised what had happened. There’s nothing you can do while in my body, whereas I have free run of the Space Command. You’ve rung me to find out whether you can bully or bribe me into telling you how we can change back, but I’m afraid, Servalan, that you’re out of luck, because I don’t know.”

“Almost,” Servalan said, with another dazzling smile, “but not quite right. Orac has already told me how we can change back--”

Blake’s confident smirk faltered slightly, and without noticing he gripped the edge of the desk with one of Servalan’s hands as though to anchor himself in her office. He’d had such plans! “That can’t be true – you wouldn’t ring just to gloat. Not even you.”

“Oh, it’s quite true,” Servalan said. “But you’re right – this isn’t a social call. I need your cooperation.”

Blake let his grip relax. “That will not happen.”

“Mm. I think it will,” Servalan said. “You see, I know you, Blake. Better, even, now than I did before this little fieldtrip. You’ll agree because if you don’t this ship will self-destruct, killing everyone on board.”

The shot zoomed out, so that it no longer showed just Blake’s face (unwise beard and all), but also the rest of the flight deck. Blake saw the rest of the crew arranged behind him, looking various stages of mutinous; he also saw that Servalan had discovered some piratical buckled boots, and had somehow managed to fit Blake’s legs into what were surely _Avon’s_ black leather trousers. Dear god.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but I would. As you point out, Blake, there’s very little advantage in me staying where I am. In fact, I’ve given the command already,” Servalan said. “The computer will only disarm if Roj Blake orders it not to. You have thirty minutes to make a choice.”

“Zen – is this _true_?” Blake demanded of the monitor. He’d taken precautions! He’d contacted the ship as soon as possible – how had this happened?

_“Confirmed.”_

“But didn’t Orac tell you not to trust her?”

“If that _had_ been one of your requirements you should have specified it!” Orac said defensively. Blake assumed the computer was not only upset about being questioned, but also irritated that its own bloody-mindedness and failure to ever do more than was asked of it was going to be the specific reason that Orac would be blown to pieces in less than thirty minutes.

Blake pressed Servalan’s hands against Servalan’s face.

“Don’t rush this or anything, Blake,” Vila’s voice said. “You’ve only got thirty minutes. Twenty-nine, now. Take your time.”

Could he kill Vila? Blake demanded of himself. No, of course not. In other circumstances, _of course_ not. But … there was so much _good_ he could do as Supreme Commander of the Federation! Even with the most powerful ship in the galaxy and the most powerful computer, he’d been an outcast – someone on the outside, trying to break in. But as Servalan, he could make a difference easily, painlessly, with so little loss of life. He’d been offered almost the same decision a year ago, on board the London – but the stakes had been lower. Yes, he and Avon and Jenna would have to give themselves up, and lose their chance at freedom, to save the other convicts, but they were just three people. This was _everyone._ Could he truly balance _everyone_ else in the galaxy against the four people, and two sentient computers, aboard the Liberator?

“Twenty-seven minutes,” Servalan said. “Are you really going to let your friends die, Blake? What about your lover, Kerr Avon?”

“Avon … isn’t my lover,” Blake said, surprised enough to look up from between Servalan’s fingers.

“Whoops,” Servalan said. “Now this is awkward. Have I said something I shouldn’t have?”

Avon had his arms crossed over his chest, and in the awkward pause that followed this announcement, he crossed one of his legs over the other as though he was trying to look more put out than he already did.

“ _Obviously_ I thought she was you,” Avon said, as defensive as Orac – and then he seemed to realise this was almost as embarrassing as the opposite assumption, flushed slightly, and clearly began wishing Blake would choose not to surrender to Servalan so he could die as quickly and as painlessly as possible.

“Don’t give in to her, Blake,” Cally said. “We would all gladly die to end Servalan’s life and to give you this opportunity.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jenna said under her breath.

“Tick tick,” Servalan said. “Twenty-five minutes now, Blake. Jenna, Cally--”

“All right!” Blake said. “Tell Zen to disarm.”

“Tell him yourself,” Servalan said. “I wouldn’t want you to have more time that you’ve already had to make a mess of my administration. I’ll have Orac send the instructions over to you. Looking forward to being you again soon, Blake.” She gave another ravishing smile, and the picture flared and vanished.

*

“Well, that was exciting,” Vila said, twenty-five minutes and more than two hours later. Blake had deactivated the self-destruct, warned all the rebel groups recorded in the Liberator databanks that Servalan might well be coming for them, and most importantly he’d shaved off the beard.

“In fact," Vila said, "it was so exciting I think I’m going to get so drunk I forget it ever happened.”

“That’s a very good idea,” Jenna said and followed him.  

“There will be another time,” Cally told Blake as she, too, took her leave. Privately Blake felt the likelihood of a _second_ freak galactic incident temporarily switching his consciousness with Servalan’s was fairly low – but he appreciated the sentiment.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Avon said as Blake glanced up at him across the now empty flight deck. “Vila has the right idea, I think. Let’s pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I expect the same thing is happening at Space Command right now,” Blake said, mentally noting that he hadn’t agreed to Avon’s suggestion, though he could gloss over it for now. “Servalan is attributing everything I said or thought to indigestion or temporary insanity.”

“You’re saying that _isn’t_ the case, are you?” Avon asked, taking the easy shot.

“But it did happen, and it wasn’t a waste of time,” Blake said, ignoring Avon, just as he had ignored Servalan. “True, she will have reversed all of my edicts, but while I was at Space Command I did some digging around Star One, and I think I know where the next clue is – the planet Albian.”

“I suppose you want me to set a course there immediately, no matter how the rest of us feel about it?”

“No,” Blake said. “I already have.”

Avon shook his head wryly. “Glad to have you back, Blake," he said, using irony to disguise the fact that it was true.


End file.
